Chapter II

Forever, ever by my shoulder pitiful Love will linger, Crouching as little houses crouch under the mist when I turn. Forever, out of the mist the church lifts up her reproachful finger, Pointing my eyes in wretched defiance where love hides her face to mourn.

Oh but the rain creeps down to wet the grain
That struggles alone in the dark,
And asking nothing, cheerfully steals back again!
The moon sets forth o' nights
To walk the lonely, dusky heights
Serenely, with steps unswerving;
Pursued by no sigh of bereavement,
No tears of love unnerving
Her constant tread:
While ever at my side,
Frail and sad, with grey bowed head,
The beggar-woman, the yearning-eyed
Inexorable love goes lagging.

The wild young heifer, glancing distraught, With a strange new knocking of life at her side Runs seeking a loneliness. The little grain draws down the earth to hide. Nay, even the slumberous egg, as it labours under the shell, Patiently to divide, and self-divide, Asks to be hidden, and wishes nothing to tell.

But when I draw the scanty cloak of silence over my eyes, Piteous Love comes peering under the hood. Touches the clasp with trembling fingers, and tries To put her ear to the painful sob of my blood, While her tears soak through to my breast, Where they burn and cauterise.